


on my knees, only for you

by mysterymistakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Cockwarming, Consort Dimitri, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Top Claude von Riegan, minor exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymistakes/pseuds/mysterymistakes
Summary: If Dimitri had found out, of his own volition and on his own time and withabsolutely zeropointed hinting from Claude, that the desk from the Alliance was, in fact, so large that Dimitri could fit quite comfortably on his knees beneath it and be seen by none, then, well.Dimitri's mischievous streak had been showing itself, as of late.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 160





	on my knees, only for you

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this was originally written for claude day 2020. hbd claude go bite a chunk outta that ass

There were many things Claude had come to love about permanently having Dimitri around the palace. Of course, crowning the list was the simple fact that Dimitri was always there; they hadn’t loved each other any less while Dimitri was away in Fhirdiad, dealing with the aftermath of the war and working tirelessly to ensure that a new, better Fódlan would prosper in its wake, but they had both been up to their ears in work twenty-some hours a day, and communication between their countries took no short amount of time. Nowadays, Dimitri could usually be found in one of the many courtyards, tucked pleasantly into a book or practicing his Almyran with the groundskeepers (Claude had been amazed at the speed with which Dimitri had picked it up, and when he told him this Dimitri had mumbled, bashfully, that he’d requested lessons from the emissary in Faerghus), or simply enjoying the scenery underneath one of the many verandas. Claude loved being able to wander out into the warm sunshine between responsibilities to see him. Dimitri would smile, smooth his wrinkled brow, and remove the thin, gold circlet of his office to allow him a moment of simple manhood. He loved to catch Dimitri on the way to the baths after a workout, toned and sweaty and devourable, loved coaxing Dimitri just a little bit farther towards getting on a wyvern. He cherished their moments alone, missed him when they were apart.

Dimitri had come a long way since arriving in Almyra. He still had his moments sometimes, where he’d be at the training grounds for hours on end, swinging lances until his callouses blistered and broke, or unable to sleep, eye vacant and body terribly still. On one occasion, which will haunt Claude to the end of his days, he’d taken advantage of Dimitri’s haunting, hollow stare. Really, all he’d done was brought Dimitri into a negotiation room on one of his worse days, let his presence beg the question of _who are you to defy me, the one who brought the beast-king to heel_ because war may well have broken out if he hadn’t gotten the opposing party to back down, but still. He’d felt horrible about it for weeks, and even though they’d discussed it once Dimitri was in a place to (a discussion which ended with the agreement to never do that again, and Claude bent in half with his legs over his head as Dimitri split him open), but nonetheless. That had been a defining moment, for the both of them.

Now, as of late, Dimitri had been bringing his own brand of mischief to the palace, namely, when Claude was swamped with kingly duties and they had little time to themselves.

The room wherein Claude took his audiences was on the second floor of the palace. It was smaller, not the traditional hall where he would alight on the throne with his consort at his feet, surrounded by gleaming gold and sun and looking down upon the subject who dared question him. If one were to gut the room, take out the books that line the walls from tip to tail, remove the large, rolling boards with maps and diagrams and political paraphernalia of all kinds tacked almost-haphazardly to them, do away with the plush area rug, the tea table in the middle of it and the enormous wraparound desk he’d, in a moment of frivolousness, had sent from Derdriu to leave not but the arched, tiled ceilings and the intricately carved double-doors that open onto a private balcony, then perhaps it would start to be a quarter of the size of where he was “supposed” to be. And, as much as Claude would love to have Dimitri, his fine physique clad only in the many beautiful chains he’d been gifted as consort, laid at his feet and ready to please whenever Claude would so see fit, it did not lend itself to the image of a king who was one with his people.

Generally speaking, that was. If Dimitri had found out, of his own volition and on his own time and with _absolutely zero_ pointed hinting from Claude, that the desk from the Alliance was, in fact, so large that Dimitri could fit quite comfortably on his knees beneath it and be seen by none, then, well. Claude is nothing if not resourceful, which has landed them here.

There were three people in the reception room, two of whom were seated in chairs across from Claude, far enough apart to be respectful but still close enough that he could infer that there was no real hostility between them. One, a small, impish man with dry, leathery skin and a gaudy amount of jewelry hanging from his bony limbs, was claiming that a particular spring, which just so happened to bisect their territories, had historically been under his dominion, and never left. The other, who was also small and impish and covered in jewelry, except bald, was arguing to the contrary; that several years ago, before you came into power, King Khalid, grace be to you, the spring had been gifted to his territory as part of a dowry. Neither of them had any kind of proof either way, and skirmishes had broken out. Perhaps it spoke to how well Claude had been governing, that something like this had been considered important enough to land on his desk, but _honestly._ They’d begun yet another round of nattering, needling each other about whose son did what and when and how come and no wonder they’d been scheduled for Claude’s entire afternoon, when Claude moved. It was inconspicuous, not the kind of punctuating rise from a chair or pointed lean forward that may have prompted a significant response from his guests. No, to the untrained eye, it looked as though the King had simply set his hands in his lap, settling in for a lengthy and dull afternoon the way one might at a formal dinner among polite company, but anyone who really _knows_ Claude would be wise enough to always suspect another layer to anything he does.

Really, Claude had moved to fist a hand into Dimitri’s hair, and shove him farther down his cock. After all, he’d been so _good,_ patiently sat underneath the desk and so kindly keeping Claude nestled in his mouth for the duration of the meeting, and without so much as a peep. It was a test of Claude’s willpower, really, having Dimitri tucked away like this, when he could so easily call the meeting to a close and take him any which way he wanted. He’d pull Dimitri up, splay him on his back across the desk, watch his eye go hazy as he was worked over from the top down, going for the soft spot beneath his ear, worrying at his deep, delicious collarbones, maybe indulging a bit in his pecs, pinching and pulling his nipples until they’re red and puffy and he’s finally started to whine. Or, he could bend Dimitri over the desk, skip all the pleasantries and press his cheek into the dark, polished wood, stuff two fingers in his ass and stretch him open until he’s just ready enough, then pull out and watch him clench around nothing until he begs Claude for it, says _please, please, I’ll do anything_ in that lovely way he does. Or, he could simply keep Dimitri underneath the desk and fuck his pretty little mouth until cum spills past his lips and down his chest. He could have Dimitri ride him while still seated in his chair or fuck him against a wall. The possibilities were endless.

“What say you, sire?”

Too bad he was stuck. Between his legs, Dimitri pressed the flat of his tongue to the head of his cock.

“One more time, please.” Claude said, regretfully pulling his hand from Dimitri’s hair to lean forward in feigned interest. His cock tipped farther down Dimitri’s throat.

“Well, if it would please you, your grace,” One of the two men shifted in his seat, rubbed his hands together. It reminded Claude of a fly. “We could see ourselves coming to an agreement wherein the spring itself would be bisected- if, of course, it wouldn’t be a trouble to you, sir- and shared between our territories.” _That’s admirably ridiculous,_ Claude thought. Dimitri began pressing wet kisses up the shaft, following each one with a lave of his tongue.

“You say you can see yourselves coming to this agreement. Have you come to it, or not?” Claude asked, not unkindly. He knew that if he let them go with just that, they’d be back in a week’s time. He smiled. Dimitri had taken to suckling on the tip, and Claude’s infinite well of patience was starting to dry up. “I would be more than happy to allocate resources towards such a deal, if that is what you would like to do, however.” Dimitri’s lips closed over the head, cloaking it a warm, wet pressure. “You must agree, here, before me, that this is what you will to do ameliorate your grievances.” Claude leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers over his chest, and chanced a look at Dimitri, which he knew was less than smart, but he did it anyway.

Dimitri was a _vision._ Claude hadn’t seen him since that morning, when they’d awoken with the light of dawn yet sticky and warm and happy. His knees were red, angry from rubbing against the rich, blue rug, broad frame squeezed between Claude’s legs with his hands folded delicately in his lap and his mouth plugged, stuffed full of Claude’s cock. He was clad in little save for the airy blue robe that pooled around him and over Claude’s shoes. He caught Claude’s eye, pulled back so that his cock bobbed gently in front of him, a thin line of spittle connecting it to his bottom lip. He grinned, mischievous, and kissed the tip with reverence. Maybe it was time to end this meeting.

“I will allocate you the resources you request, but you must agree, here, before me and in writing, to use them only for their intended purpose.” He slid a paper and two counts of pen and ink across the tabletop. His cock went further down Dimitri’s throat; he felt it flutter around him, Dimitri hollowing his cheeks to suck. Claude had to bite his tongue to hold back a groan. The paper only held a series of shallow notes that Claude had taken as they’d nattered away, sketching out in broad strokes what each of them had agreed to. A more official draft would be drawn up later, by those who knew more about the precise numbers of the kingdom’s resources than he did. The leathery old men grumbled and signed the paper without the particular flourish of someone who had gotten away with exactly what they wanted. Off they went.

The doors shut, and Claude wasted no time. Beneath the desk, Dimitri was smiling, mischievous. His lips were a pretty pink, almost red near the middle, glossed with a filthy mixture of his own saliva and Claude’s precum. He chased Claude’s cock as it pulled away from him, almost sad that it was gone.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble for me, darling.” Claude said, dropping his kingly composure for something dirtier, voice rough as it echoed through the room. He watched Dimitri shiver, look up at him with reverence. He was awaiting instruction so perfectly, with soft, hot breaths tumbling out from between slick lips and his need so nicely framed by strong arms as the billowing blue of his robe caught and stuck on the tip of it, stained just a little darker. The thing about Dimitri, as Claude had come to know, was that he always wanted to _please._ At first, Claude had been somewhat wary of it, worried that Dimitri thought the only reason Claude was keeping him around was for the sex, but no, he just loved it, adored twisting himself this way and that to get Claude just that little bit deeper, always impossibly farther and always letting Claude have his way. He loved the praise, loved to take everything Claude has to give, and Claude would be a fool not to indulge. How could he not, when Dimitri looked so pretty with his mouth plugged up, with tears in his eye and his need leaking, untouched between his legs? Or, when he’d been pushed to the edge, stuffed full by Claude and writhing, sweet little moans spilling where Claude coaxed them out? “I can’t decide what I want to do with you.” He leaned back again in his chair, laced his fingers together over his chest like he was debating a piece of policy, or ruminating on his next move in a game of chess. “I could keep you under there, fuck your face, let you rut against my boot until you cum all over it. Or,” Dimitri perked up a little at the _or._ Perhaps he’d leave the face-fucking until later. “Or,” Claude continued, mulling over the options he’d considered earlier, “I could fuck you on the desk.” Dimitri’s lips fell the slightest bit farther open. “Oh? Does that sound good to you, Dimitri?” He nodded, hazy and fervent, but didn’t move. “Use your words, love.”

“Yes, please.” Dimitri said. It tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. Claude leaned forward to run a hand though his hair. A fond warmth wormed its way through him when Dimitri leaned into the touch, closed his eyes with a smile. Claude hummed, smiled softly.

“Always so good for me,” he murmured, watched the praise wash over Dimitri. “So, you want me to fuck you on the desk, hm?” Dimitri nodded again, still pressing into Claude’s hand. “Do you want me to bend you over the desk? Spread you open and press you down? Or, do you want me to sprawl you out on your back, displayed for me?” Dimitri shivered, looked back up at Claude from underneath his lashes, eye wide and sparkling. _God,_ did Claude have it bad for him. “Which one, Dima? Front, or back?”

“Front, please, Claude.” Gently, Claude slipped his arms underneath Dimitri’s, helped him unfold and emerge from underneath the desk. It was slow, he’d been sat there for the better part of two hours and his joints had long since gone stiff, but he was warm and solid in Claude’s hands. Dimitri’s knees were red and angry, as were his palms. They bore imprints from the rug. He leaned back, butt pressed against the lip of the desk. Claude drew into him, pressed himself against Dimitri, all soft smiles and adoration as he captured Dimitri in a sweet kiss. They broke off with a groan when their cocks lined up, hot and slick, and the heat was back. Claude practically shredded Dimitri’s robe in his effort to get it off, to run his hands over the hard planes of his body. “My love,” he groaned, reveling in the way Dimitri’s labored breaths hitched as he thumbed over his pebbled, pink nipples, speaking low and sultry into his ear, “turn around for me.”

Dimitri stretched across the length of the desk. Claude ran his hands up Dimitri’s exposed back, smoothed along his slim waist all the way up to his broad shoulders.

“Claude,” Dimitri groaned, petulant, with his cheek pressed to the smooth wood, “please.” Claude chuckled, ran his hands back to Dimitri’s ass, gave it a firm grab and a little smack. He pressed a kiss to Dimitri’s tailbone and fished around for a vial of oil in one of the many desk drawers. He drizzled some over his fingers, watched as Dimitri tracked it, fixated on the way it glossed over Claude’s hand to drop down onto the round of his ass. The vial was replaced. Claude pressed the tip of a finger to Dimitri’s hole, felt it flex and flutter.

“Ready?”

Dimitri nodded. Claude gave his ass another, firmer smack with his clean hand. “Words, Dimitri.”

“Yes, Claude, _please,_ ” Dimitri forced out.

“Thank you, darling.” Claude said, and slipped the first finger in. It was met with surprisingly little resistance. “Did you touch yourself this morning while I was away, Dima?” He asked, slipping a second finger in beside the first.

“No,” Dimitri muttered. His breath caught on the little _ahs_ escaping him.

“No?” Claude parroted. He crooked his fingers, scissored them back and forth to watch Dimitri squirm against the desk. His cock must’ve been crushed between his body and the unforgiving wood, but Claude knew he liked that, liked the humiliation. “When else could you have opened yourself up like this for me, Dimitri?” He asked, not unkindly. “Was it in the tunnels, before you came up under the desk?” Dimitri shook his head. Claude added a third, felt Dimitri’s hole stretch, stroked at the soft, wet heat inside him. He avoided Dimitri’s prostate deliberately; he could have a reward after he’d admitted to what he’d done. “Or, oh, _Dima,_ ” Claude said, laid himself along Dimitri’s back so that he could feel Claude’s breath ghost across his ear, “were you fingering yourself under the desk, during the meeting?”

Dimitri went stock-still.

Claude’s eyes widened just a fraction before a wide grin crawled its way across his face. “Oh, _Dimitri,_ how obscene! Do you know what kind of scandal would’ve broken if you were found out?” Dimitri moaned softly; he most certainly did know. They both knew, but that didn’t stop his cheeks from burning red, an embarrassed blush that raged down his neck and across his ears. “The royal consort, fucking himself underneath the King’s desk during an official meeting without his permission. You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” Dimitri mumbled something into the desk, where saliva was starting to pool on the varnish. “What was that, darling?” He drew his fingers out, watched as Dimitri chased them, puffy hole clenching around nothing. Claude brought the head of his cock to rub against it meanly. “Be good, Dima. What was that you said?”

“…only for you, my love.” Dimitri said, his voice just _dripping_ with want. It filled Claude’s chest with a possessive warmth, the notion that this Dimitri was only for him, that he was the sole person alive who gets to see him in such a state, blushing and moaning and wanting as though he’d drop dead if didn’t get stuffed full right then and there. It would be cruel to deny Dimitri any longer.

Claude’s cock slid into his hole with one solid thrust. Dimitri moaned, loud and reverberating throughout the empty room. He looked deceptively small, spread out across the desk like this, among the towering bookshelves and with the expanse of the room spread out before them. It made Claude feel _powerful,_ made his breath hot and his blood sing. His composure was beginning to crack, between Dimitri’s tight, searing heat, his sweet, sweet moans ringing in his ears, the theoretical notion that anyone could walk through that door and catch them. If someone were to walk in, they would see Dimitri splayed, his eye rolling back in pleasure as his hands flexed, scrabbled for purchase against the smooth wood, pale skin marred by a violent pink as it spread from the tops of his cheekbones down to bleed into his chest, and Claude behind him, one hand pinning him down, the other steadying his hips as he slammed into him again and again, mouth open and eyes closed. Quite a sight, they were. Claude changed angle, leaned further into him just slightly, and Dimitri _shook._ He made a lovely choked-off noise (and Claude groaned, reveling in the fact that he was the one to pull such sounds from Dimitri, that he was the one to bring him such pleasure, forcing him to let go and indulge) and whined, dissolving into wanton, wordless moans as Claude’s cock pounded into his prostate.

“Claude, I’m- _mmm, ah!_ Close!” Dimitri panted, back arched and fucking himself on Claude’s cock. He wasn’t much farther off, orgasm building fast in the pit of his stomach.

“Come for me then, Dima.” Claude groaned, and Dimitri did. He came with a shout, spilling white across the desk as Claude thrust into him one, two, three more times before burying himself deep in Dimitri, staining his insides with cum.

Claude slid out, watched as his cum leaked out from Dimitri’s red, red hole and down the inside of his creamy thighs. Idly, he wondered if he should invest in something to plug it up, keep it in, make Dimitri walk around all day with Claude’s cum inside him like a brand. An idea he filed away for later, after they were both happy and clean and somewhere truly private.

Gently, he coaxed Dimitri up, off the desk and into his arms. His sweaty skin stuck to the varnish and his cum was all over his stomach. He collapsed into Claude, boneless.

“Hi, baby.” Claude murmured, strong arms wrapped around Dimitri, a comforting hand running up and down his back as he pressed kisses into Dimitri’s sweaty brow. “You did so well, Dima. You were wonderful, as always.” Dimitri hummed into the crook of Claude’s neck, nuzzled into it, breathing in the warmth of his skin. He was sticky, tired.

“Sleepy, darling?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Aw,” Claude cooed, shifting to plant kisses all across Dimitri’s still-pink cheeks. “Wouldn’t you rather a bath, first?” Dimitri opened his eye, still a little hazy, and smiled softly. Claude smiled back, ran a hand lovingly through his hair and a thumb over his cheek.

“That would be delightful, but only if you’re there.” Claude laughed, kissed him gently.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! i have [twitter](https://twitter.com/mysterymistakes) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/mysterymistakes)!


End file.
